


Comfort

by Howlingdawn



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: ...but one day perhaps i will apply my angst talent to this fandom, Family Fluff, Gen, Humor, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, alas that day is not this day, oh well whatevs, tho i feel like the humor is like implied cause it's b99
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 01:55:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18955564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Howlingdawn/pseuds/Howlingdawn
Summary: Jake's high on pain meds, it's late at night, and he's next to Holt on the couch. Naturally, it goes to a place that should be uncomfortable.





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [myglassesaredirty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myglassesaredirty/gifts).



> I've been in this fandom for like... 5 days? and I'm nearly done with s3 I AM IN LOVE. I was kinda worried it'd be one of those seriously over-hyped things that's only good in gifs AND BOY WAS I WRONG. I'd die for nearly all of these characters and their relationships. I love them. I love this show. It brings me Great Joy in this horrifying post-Endgame world
> 
> Anyways, be kind if anyone's OOC, as I said I'm a very new newbie, and I hope you enjoy!

Raymond sat on the end of Peralta’s couch, staring blankly at the television airing a game of football. He did not understand the appeal of watching grown men tackle each other for an oddly shaped ball after approximately two seconds of gameplay, particularly when it was followed by extensive explanations of the single moment the viewers had just witnessed.

Unfortunately, it was Peralta’s chosen form of entertainment for the evening. Given that he had been injured in the line of duty earlier that day, no one could argue.

Doubly unfortunately, this was also a party, meaning that staring at the game of football was his only viable escape from “five drink Amy” and Linetti, and Jeffords preventing Diaz from attacking Hitchcock and Scully with various kitchen utensils. But alas, Peralta’s injury had been sustained defending Raymond, and thus he did not wish to leave early.

It was doomed to be an uncomfortable, unfortunate night.

The steady rhythm of crutches announced Peralta’s return. “Incoming!” he yelled.

Using his crutches as a vault, he tried to leap over the couch to land beside Raymond. Naturally, he missed epically. His foot caught on the back of the couch and he pitched forward, smacking face-first into the cushions.

“That was unwise, Peralta.”

He popped his head up, his legs flopping down to join the rest of him on the couch. After some entirely undignified scrambling, he was properly upright. “No, it’s good, I am _totally_ high on pain meds right now.”

“You will certainly feel it in the morning.”

“Agreed! But right now I am _enjoying_ being high.”

Raymond arched an eyebrow. “That is perhaps not the best fact to admit to me.”

Peralta threw his hands into the air. “I don’t even care! I am so high! Look, they made a touchdown!”

He glanced at the television. “Peralta, that is a commercial for tampons.”

He dropped his arms, tilting his head and squinting at the television. “No, it’s an ad for puppies.” He gasped loudly. “I should get a puppy!”

“You absolutely should not,” Raymond said. “Detective Santiago is deathly allergic.”

“I could kill her to get a puppy,” Peralta whispered. He crouched low, turning slowly to peek over the back of the couch with wide eyes. “If Gina gets one more drink in her…”

Raymond took hold of the top of his head and turned him back to the television before he could continue planning his girlfriend’s murder. “The game is back on. Watch it.”

“Oh. Ok.”

Peralta snuggled into the couch, flipping his hood up, wrapping his arms snugly around himself, and drawing his uninjured leg up onto the couch with him. Satisfied that his detectives would not be murdering each other – at least, not this pair on this particular night – Raymond watched it with him. His nonsensical commentary drowned out the legitimate commentary, and Raymond found himself grateful for it. He might even be amused by it.

Slowly, however, Peralta’s commentary faded out. His voice became slurred, his speech slow, his jokes fewer and further between. Between the long case, bullet wound, and pain medication, sleep was finally overcoming his boundless energy. He drifted… drifted further… and further…

Peralta’s head plopped down onto Raymond’s shoulder.

Raymond blinked.

Behind him, the rest of his detectives continued their party. In front of him, the football game continued to play. But suddenly, all he could hear was Peralta’s little mumble of “Y’ur shoul’er’s real comfy.”

Potential reactions ran through Raymond’s mind. He could push Peralta off, making him sleep on his own side of the couch. He could call for Jeffords to carry him to his room. He should do anything, really, that ended with the cessation of this very unprofessional contact before Linetti could photograph it and use it against one or both of them at a later date.

And yet…

He had never regretted his and Kevin’s decision to not have children. They were loud and messy and unruly, with strange emotions on top of demanding constant care, and were overall a stressor neither man had wanted. But receiving his captaincy, and with it being placed in charge of a team of detectives who were essentially children in adult bodies, had given him a new appreciation for the art of parenting. In particular, his decision to take one Jake Peralta under his wing, the most childish of them all.

Somehow, in trying to train it out of him, his childish enthusiasm had him wriggling his way into Raymond’s heart as the son he had never had.

_Besides,_ Raymond rationalized, _he saved my life. The least I can do is provide comfort._

“Yes,” he found himself agreeing, reaching for the blanket strewn haphazardly over the back of the couch, “my shoulder is real comfy.”

He pulled the blanket over Peralta and replaced the hood that had fallen askew. He let out a contented sigh, snuggling more securely against Raymond, his injured leg sticking out behind him. Raymond patted his shoulder. “Good night, P-”

_No one will remember this. What harm can it do?_

“Good night… Jake.”

_Perhaps tonight was not doomed to be uncomfortably unfortunate after all._

(Two days later, courtesy of Linetti, he walked into work to find a framed picture on his desk of the two of them fast asleep. Peralta stood right beside it, exclaiming “You called me Jake!”)

**Author's Note:**

> This is 100% because of that ep where Jake stayed the night at Holt's house to solve a case and they both got super tired bUT HE DIDN'T FALL ASLEEP ON HOLT'S SHOULDER. A true FAILURE on the show's behalf (it's like 2am and my exhaustion and love of this show have killed any filters I have can you tell)


End file.
